Parenting limericks

In late October, our sweet little daughter Skyla Aurora Zlatkovsky was born, and our life changed rather dramatically.  To pass the hours of bottle-feeding, diaper-changing, and kiddo-entertaining, I began composing limericks.  Here is a compilation of the first ten:

* * *

There once was a three-day-old child

Whose temperament was sweet and mild

But she wanted to feed

All night long — yes indeed! —

And now we are OMG tired...

* * *

Thanks, all, for your congratulation!

We're filled to the brim with elation!

If only this girl —

Our sweet little pearl —

Would soundly sleep post-lactation.

* * *

My wife is a champ, there's no hiding

How lucky I was, in her finding.

For she stayed with our daughter

Alone — what a a martyr —

While hubby-o went paragliding!

* * *

First to eat, then to sleep, Skyla wanted

And with little squeaks had our nerves taunted

But we managed OK

On our third at-home day

We're new parents, but we are undaunted!

* * *

A walk to the Falls at Snoqualmie

Together with daddy and mommy.

I'm down for that —

In my sleep sack and hat —

As long as there's food in my tummy.

* * *

They tried to instill in me fear, "Oh!

As parents your sleep will be zero".

But thus far, for now,

We have managed somehow.

And also, my wife is a hero!

* * *

I couldn't have guessed it — who coulda?

I didn't predict it, but shoulda:

From feasting all day

On a breast milk buffet,

Our girl looks like a baby Buddha!

* * *

Little girl crying up a small ocean

"Let her suckle" was clever dad's notion

But his hands occupied —

So his big nose he tried —

And she latched onto it with devotion!

* * *

On what you'll become my thoughts linger:

A teacher? A chemist? A singer?

I'm sure you'll do well,

I can already tell,

By how firmly you suckle my finger!

* * *

There once was an excellent mommy

Whose milk filled our little girl's tummy.

A young infant's life

Involves diaper-change strife;

But suckle — and life ain't too crummy!

* * *

More limericks to come...

Also, for the original birth announcement post and photos, see this Facebook link.

Once Upon a Swan Lake

An original fairytale written by Michael and Katrina Zlatkovsky for their wedding, inspired by the original Swan Lake story and incorporating Tchaikovsky's music for the ballet. Michael's narration of the story -- complete with Tchaikovsky's music in the background -- can be downloaded here.

* * *

Once upon a tale, when the earth was still young, there grew a beautiful flower. It had seventeen delicate petals, each endowed with a magical spark. It was said that anyone who gazed upon this flower, and smelled its fragrant scent, returned home blessed with unusual luck in finding happiness for the rest of their lives.

Grand fables and tales spread throughout the land, speaking of a magical flower with extraordinary powers. But the petals themselves, seized and fought-over by greedy men, were torn from the flower’s stem and spread throughout all the corners of the world, their power diminished. It was said that only the one who could unite the petals could bring peace and prosperity upon himself and his people – but no possessor of the magical petals was willing to give up his own prized treasure. Over time, all that remained of the flower was a legend -- a children's story -- and few but the wise and the naive believed in the flower's existence, let alone in its alleged might.

It was in this age that there lived a prince, who, from childhood, had heard of the flower lore. Even as he grew into adulthood, he continued to believe in the old magic, and in its ability to bring him happiness and to someday make him a great ruler of his father's kingdom. And so one morning, he straddled his silvered horse and rode into a long and perilous journey, determined to return home with the mystical petals.

The prince crossed narrow bridges over deep and foreboding precipices, journeyed over rivers of fire, clashed his sword against the unbreakable scales of ferocious dragons, and bargained with rulers in neighboring kingdoms by performing heroic deeds -- all for a handful of delicate and unwithering petals, which the prince kept carefully tucked in a traveling pouch. At last, he had found all but one petal, which was said to have been blown off of the flower by a powerful gust of wind, right before all the rest of the petals were taken captive and scattered. It was now in search of this last petal that the prince rode forth, hoping that the wind that once took the petal would chance to return it to him.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a distant land, there lived a fair young maiden, who often ventured into the woods to pick berries and wild mushrooms and flowers. One day, an unusual petal flew into her basket -- a petal that looked ancient and unlike anything that grew in the surrounding forests, yet was as fragrant and fresh as if it was still attached to a growing flower. As she paused to admire it, wondering what strange chance had brought the mysterious petal to her, an owl, soaring high above the trees, was attracted by the petal's unnatural shimmer. Like a rock the owl dropped to the ground in front of the girl, transforming into an old and wicked sorcerer. "You know not what you hold!" the sorcerer bellowed, "Give back the petal, for it contains magic that I alone am entitled to possess!"

Terrified, the girl flung the basket of mushrooms at the sorcerer, and ran deeper and deeper into the woods. Behind her, she could hear the screeching and the beating wings of the sorcerer-owl. Soon, to her terror, she saw that the path she had taken was leading straight into the shore of a lake. In desperation, as she rounded a corner, she tucked the petal beneath a clump of green moss, where the owl would not be able to find it.

As the path emerged at the lake's shore, the owl flew straight at girl and turned back into the cackling sorcerer. Yet when he discovered that she had fooled him, and had hid the petal somewhere along the way, the sorcerer became enraged. Raising his staff, he turned the maiden into a swan, so she could never tell of the secret she knew to anyone else. The sorcerer-owl then flew away, determined to keep a watch on the swan lest she should try to retrieve the petal.

Around this time, having traveled far and wide and finding no trace of the last elusive petal, the prince had come to the land where the fair maiden had lived. He was traveling slowly through the forest, his spirits sunken, when suddenly, just off of the path that he was following, he saw the shimmer of moonlight on the surface of a lake, and gliding gracefully through it, a snow-white swan. He watched her, enchanted, until the moon disappeared completely beneath the clouds, and the prince found himself engulfed in darkness.

* * *

In the morning, the prince once again watched the beautiful swan glide through the calm waters. As he proceeded to return to the lake every morning and evening to watch the majestic swan, she grew accustomed to his presence, and would flap her wings happily and glide close to the shore when he approached. On his part, the prince was glad of the company, and would tell the swan of his beloved homeland and of his plentiful adventures.

One day, as the prince was telling the swan about his quest for the very last petal, the swan became very alert and excited. When he finished, she flapped her great wings to get out of the water, and started waddling down a forest path. Perplexed, the prince followed her, and soon they came to the mossy nook where the girl, pursued by the sorcerer, had once hidden the magical petal. The swan dug her long black beak into the moss, and, turning to the prince, dropped the petal towards his outstretched hand.

Suddenly, like lightning, the sorcerer-owl swooped towards the prince, grabbing the falling petal with his beak, and, with his talons, seizing the prince's pouch that contained the remaining petals. Then, flapping his wings triumphantly, the owl flew out of the range of the prince's sword, and turned the prince, too, into a swan. "Now the secret is mine and mine alone!" cackled the sorcerer. "How fitting, noble prince, that the petals you sought to make you a great ruler will now give me the power to conquer and destroy your land!"

The evil sorcerer flew back to his mountain dwelling, where he began to concoct a most malignant array of powders and mixtures and spells, toiling for many a week in preparation for harnessing the flower's great powers. Meanwhile, passing travelers through the forest would often stop to admire the two beautiful and inseparable swans, who, unlike other swans at the time, seemed to have chosen each other for life.

Before long, the sorcerer was ready for battle, and prepared a large cauldron of sanguine potion to render himself more powerful than ever before. Yet, as he tossed the petals into the cauldron, the powers of good within the flower refused to be subjugated to such an evil purpose. The cauldron erupted into flames, and when the smoke cleared, all that remained were seventeen petals, floating away in the wind and looking as fresh and fragrant as ever, and a benign little owl that had lost the magical powers and the mean demeanor of the evil sorcerer.

With the demise of the sorcerer came also the end to his evil magic, and the two swans turned back into a fair maiden and a noble prince. They were happy to have re-gained their human form, and, more importantly, to have found each other -- as happy, indeed, as any whom, in the days of old, had beheld the magical flower. As they approached the prince’s kingdom, trumpets were sounded, and friends and families of the couple, clad in beautiful attire, gathered about the prince and his bride. And so it was that, once upon a tale, a truly fairy-tale wedding took place.

(click above for a larger image).

Of Falling Leaves...

I do not remember ever seeing leaves fall in autumn... 'till I came this semester to England. When I was four or five years old, living in Russia, I vaguely recall strolling in the forest with my mother, collecting the red and golden maple-tree leaves into colorful bouquets -- but I don't remember ever observing the actual process of the falling of leaves. The rustling of the wind; the peaceful float of the leaf through the air; the tapping noise as the leaf strikes a branch, where it's still-attached brethren await their flight; the gentle landing of the adventurous leaf onto the moist ground... all this has gone absurdly unnoticed by my supposedly outdoorsy and contemplatory self. And yet, how could such a wonder have escaped me?


I had known of the season called "autumn". I suppose that its synonym, "fall", should have sufficed as a clue. I knew, too, that in summer, leaves are green, plentiful, swaying high in the branches of trees; and that, by winter, hardly a browned leaf remains on the suddenly-barren branches, while, below, countless leaves lie crunching beneath my feet as I walk through the forest. The Intermediate Value Theorem, Mathematical Induction, and probably a handful of other principles could all have told me that if the leaves were initially on branches and were later found on the ground, then surely there came a time when they were floating in between those two non-adjacent states. But somehow, I had never seen this process in action.

Indeed, until now, I've never had a good chance to observe falling leaves. In Israel, leaves don't fall: they wilt in the summer heat, barely hanging on to the branches, awaiting the rains of early November. In Alaska, the leaves don't so much fall, as freeze off, descending onto the ground enshrouded by thick mid-October snowfall. And in Evansville, away from the climate extremes of Israel and Alaska... well, the leaves probably fall in Evansville, but, alas!, in my previous semesters at college, I must have been too busy studying the mathematical principles mentioned above to take note of how those principles apply to nature...

But leaves fall in Harlaxton! They soar through the air, they twirl in the wind, they land on heaps of other yellowed and reddened leaves... They are a perfect companion to my cheerful, carefree, winged 13 credit hours; the sound of their rustling is but an echo to my exuberant singing! Yes, leaves do fall at Harlaxton!

* * *

... Actually, to those who observe the flight of leaves -- and now I am fortunate enough to consider myself part of that exquisite group of free-spirited poets -- the word "fall" is a terrible misnomer. Autumn leaves don't fall: they may glide or slice through the air, they may soar or fly over treetops, or they may even dive recklessly onto the ground, but they definitely don't fall. Falling is passive: it implies the unintentional death of the fragile leaf. Yet the flight of the leaf is not involuntary, nor is its state frail!

Leaves are strong, healthy, and beautiful when they leave the tree. The people who think of autumn leaves as frail -- indeed, the same types of people who must have come up with the word "fall" to mean "autumn" -- must only have noticed the old and crunchy leaves on the ground, but not the leaves as they float through the air. Yes, leaves on the ground do turn frail within days, if not hours: their flights -- the leafs' most glorious moments -- drain them of their spark of life. But do not, dear reader, let the sight of dark lifeless coals expunge your memories of the liveliness of the fire, nor let the heap of dead leaves on the ground wipe out your memories of leaves magnificently soaring though the air!

"I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze
than it should be stifled by dry rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor,
every atom of me in magnificent glow,
than a sleepy and permanent planet."

-- (from Jack London, personal credo)

Leaves choose the opportunity of their one and only adventure. They hang onto their branches just long enough, withstanding wind and rain, until they're prepared to leave their long-time home. So much have they heard of the great World that exists beyond the scope of their tree; of creeks, and waterfalls, of flowers, of all sorts of creatures... even of things as common and magical as dew on the grass below them. The faint whisper of the butterflies, the singsong-y chirping of birds, and the gentle caressing of the wind have all told the leaves of the great Beyond that lies ahead of them. And now they're ready. They have waited long enough; they have donned their new colorful garments; they have quenched their thirst with sunlight. Some leaves have even sprouted little balls on their sides, to help them twirl in mid-air. Winged and colored like the butterflies that they had once so envied, the leaves are now ready to take flight.

So even in Harlaxton the leaves do not fall! They take a deep breath, drink one last drop of golden sap from the tree, and then they let go. The wind catches the adventurous leaves, and they soar blissfully through the air, beautiful, free, and unafraid. To these leaves, who had never left their branches before, time slows down while they glide through the air; so that, by the time that they have reached the soft ground below, a whole eternity seems to have passed for the leaves. And so, while a blanket of snow gradually piles upon them, and while spring creeks trickle and dance by them, and while summer shade falls over them, and even while new leaves take flight and land upon them, the leaves peacefully lay to rest, for a short eternity more, re-living their extraordinary journey in their bright dreams.


- Michael

She Wove A Cloak of Many Yarns

Allow me take a quick break from my regular posts, and publish this poem/song that I had been working on for several months. I first heard this melody, "She Wove A Cloak Of Many Yarns" (recorded by Jeff Victors on my computer), more than a year ago, and found it both beautiful and lyrical. When I learned that the melody had no words (or at least none that I could find on the Internet), I sought to amend this. My lyrics are below; a recorded version (sang by me, and accompanied by a slightly modified Jeff Victors recording) can be downloaded here:

She Wove A Cloak of Many Yarns (lyrics by Michael Zlatkovsky)

Dedicated to my love, Katrina

In mystical lands 'neath a brilliant sun
Two loving souls, heavenly blessed,
Lived blissfully -- freely -- together as one
Until he was called on a quest.
They went to the forest and there they embraced
And kissed underneath an old oak.
In face of the long separation they faced
She lovingly wove him a cloak.

Oh she wove many a yarn
For a cloak that he would wear:
To remind him of her love and her hopes
And to shield him from cold and despair.

That morning they parted, distraught and forlorn,
And silent became her small world.
The distant sun shone, but until his return
The Earth had grown weary and cold.
By night, when the wind hurled by stardust above,
Though it to his darling he spoke:
He sent her his kisses, and felt back her love
Caressing his traveling cloak.

Oh she wove...

On following days he crossed mountains and hills,
He watched the lakes and the seas;
He felt what the lonely wild caribou feels,
And knew what the soaring hawk sees.
On fine days he'd laugh at the warm sunny light,
On grim days in rain he would soak;
But no matter the weather -- by day and by night --
Protected he was by her cloak.

Oh she wove...

The days turned to weeks, but at last came the end --
The journey's completion drew near;
And as he came round a mountain bend
He saw, in the distance, his dear.
Once more did the Earth and the Heaven unite;
Once more did the bright sun shine forth!
Once more did two loving hearts beat with delight,
'Neath a cloak that now covered them both!

Oh she wove...

JENNY be Fair

For those of you who know the song Johnny be Fair, please read on. For those of you who are unfimiliar, it's a hilarious song that can be found on iTunes (if you want to preview it, I recommend the Johnn be Fair by Atwater/Donnelly), and lyrics can be found on http://www.lyricsdownload.com/sainte-marie-buffy-johnny-be-fair-lyrics.html.

I heard the song at the 3 Barons Faire in Alaska (I'll try to write about it sometime soon), where it was very well sang/acted-out. I loved the song, but unfortunately it was written from the viewpoint of a girl, which made it slightly weird for me to sing it. I decided to remedy the situation by changing the song to JENNY be Fair, and making it from the perspective of a guy. Below is my version:

Oh Jenny be fair, and Jenny be fine
and she wants me for to wed.
I would have married Jenny
but my father up and said.
"I'm sad to tell you, son, that
which your mother never knew:
But Jenny is a child of mine
and so is kin to you."

Oh Kathy be fair, and Kathy be fine
and she wants me for to wed . . .

Oh Amy be fair, and Amy be fine
and she wants me for to wed . . .

Well, you never seen a guy
so sad and sorry as I was.
The girls in town were all my kin,
and my father was the cause.
If life should thus continue
I shall die a single man.
I'll go seek out Mother
to console me, if she can:

"Oh, son, did I not teach
you to forgive and to forget.
Your father may have sowed his oats,
but still you needn't fret.
Your father may be father
to all the girls in town but still....
He's not the one who fathered you
so marry whom you will."

w00t!